


Something to Remember

by bellabonbon



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Denial, Gen, Memories, Trying to Cope, blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellabonbon/pseuds/bellabonbon
Summary: He gets up. He’s not sitting through any more of this. He’ll go to one of the guestrooms, or he’ll go to the basement. He’s not listening to this. He hears Cynthia crying now, but he doesn’t look at her. He just gathers up his pillow and his glasses and walks to the door. He’s not listening to this.“Why did youhatehim so much?”Larry stops with his hand on the doorknob. She sounds desperate and broken now, like the fight has just left her completely. He closes his eyes because he… he can’t.“What did he do to you? Why couldn’t you just… Why did you have tohatehim?”“You know that’s not true.” His voice is low, too, and he keeps his back turned because he doesn’t want to see the mess he knows she is right now.“He needed you, but you never wanted anything to do with him!” Cynthia hiccups around her tears, and her voice starts getting more hysterical. “Why couldn’t you justlovehim?!”





	Something to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters.

He slams the phone down and immediately pages his assistant. She answers a second later, and he’s a little too hateful when he snaps, “Add that number to the block list.”

He cuts off the connection before she can respond. He probably shouldn’t be so short with her, but he’s annoyed that the call got through in the first place. Angela normally does a pretty good job of screening, but sometimes things slip through. He knows it’s not really her fault, but that’s the easiest place to aim his frustration. 

The calls don’t come nearly as often as they used to, but he still gets them. People calling to let him know their opinions of him, of his family. He’s sick of it.

His cell phone buzzes from its place on his desk, and he grabs it in annoyance. He glances at the screen and sees a text notification from Cynthia. 

_Don’t forget Zoe’s concert._

“Shit.” He curses to himself as he looks at the time. He hasn’t really _forgotten_ , but it’s definitely slipped his mind since he left the house this morning. There are so many things going on at the office, and he just hasn’t had time to think about anything but work. At least he’s not late, though. He just needs to figure out a way to finish five hours of work in one.

He calls in one of the paralegals and tries to delegate what he can. There’s no way he’s going to get everything finished, but he’ll just have to take the rest of it home or come in early tomorrow. They have mediation at 8:30, and he’s still got a ton of work that needs to be prepped. For a second, he wonders if Zoe would even be bothered if he had to miss her concert, but he pushes that thought out of his head because he knows it makes him a terrible person. She only has a couple of performances a year- he can manage to make time for them. 

He makes it to the school just in time, and the band director is already making his announcements by the time he parks and gets inside. The lights are dimmed, and he has to squint to find Cynthia in the mid-back left aisle seat that she texted him about. He finds her, though, and slides into the empty seat beside her right as the auditorium curtain rises to display the band. She glances over at him but doesn’t say anything. She just claps politely with the rest of the audience as the band gets ready to start their first song.

If he’s being perfectly honest, jazz band concerts aren’t his favorite thing. He enjoys them enough because of Zoe, but they all sort of blend together. Even though the band seems fairly good (not that he has much to compare), he’s just not interested enough to really enjoy himself. He goes to them because that’s what you’re supposed to do as a parent- you’re supposed to sit through these kinds of things to show your kids that you appreciate their talent and their hard work. 

He just doesn’t really _connect_ to jazz band. He’d much prefer a sporting event or something.

He signed Connor up for T-ball when he was like four, but they only made it through a couple of games before Connor started crying and throwing a fit at the mere mention of practice or a game. He hated it, but Larry tried to set a no quitting example and keep him enrolled. Cynthia, though, argued that Connor never asked to sign up in the first place, so it wasn’t _about_ quitting. She ended up winning, mostly because Larry was too embarrassed by the temper tantrums to fight her. 

Zoe, though, was a lot more interested in getting dirty and playing rough than her brother was. She did T-ball and softball and then decided she wanted to be a soccer player. She was good, too, and she kept playing until she got to middle school and suddenly seemed to lose interest. She lost interest in pretty much everything once she hit middle school. Except guitar. Music. She really, really liked music.

So Larry’s been dragging himself to band concerts ever since.

He knows she has a solo because he’s heard her practicing nonstop. Well, whenever he’s been at home at least. He isn’t there a lot because work is so busy, and he’s pretty sure things are easier at the house when he’s not there anyway. At least for Cynthia- she doesn’t have to pretend to tolerate him.

Almost like she can read his mind, she leans over and whispers, “Her solo’s coming up.”

Zoe’s great. She’s actually really talented, and he feels a familiar burst of pride as she’s taking center stage and drawing all of the attention to herself. The song is familiar because he’s heard her rehearsing, but it sounds so different now with the amplified sound and the auditorium acoustics. She closes her eyes and just seems to melt into the music, and he just thinks about how awesome she is. Talented and so beautiful. 

“She’s crying.”

Cynthia’s words grab his attention, and he can just barely make out the wetness on her cheeks and the way she’s swallowing uncomfortably as she finishes her song. He doesn’t miss the way she wipes quickly at her cheeks when she returns to her chair. He applauds with the rest of the audience, and he wonders if everyone else noticed.

Cynthia’s wiping her own tears, and he’s not surprised. She can’t go two hours without crying. He doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he does his best to just not witness it. It’s not that he doesn’t care, he just has no idea what he’s supposed to do. So he just mostly does nothing.

Zoe acts like nothing’s wrong once the concert is over. Of course she does. She doesn’t like showing emotion, and she’s probably just hoping no one noticed her tears. Larry knows this, so he doesn’t bring it up. Surprisingly, neither does Cynthia. Zoe finds them, and they both hug her and tell her how amazing she was. Cynthia brought flowers, and both of their names are listed on the card, so Zoe thanks them and asks them how they liked the concert.

Larry’s very aware that people are looking at them as he nods along and distractedly answers Zoe’s questions. He realizes that this is the first school function they’ve attended since… well, in a long time. He shouldn’t be surprised that people are staring. People are curious. He’s used to it. Everyone wants to know what a family looks like after one of their kids commits suicide. Are they visibly breaking down? Are they constantly crying? Are they mad? Are they just normal? He knows all of that. He’s used to it.

Of course, he also knows that some of the stares aren’t the curious kind. He knows that some of the stares are the judgmental kind- the _why didn’t you spend some of that money on fixing your son instead of buying that new Audi?_ kind. 

“I’m starving.” Zoe’s probably keyed into the way people are looking at them as well, but she’s far too stubborn to acknowledge it or let on. Instead, she shifts the guitar case on her back and looks at them expectantly.

“Well, let’s go get dinner.” Cynthia paints a smile on her face, but it doesn’t even come close to reaching her eyes. She looks at Larry, and he knows better than to say he really needs to get back to the office. 

He just clears his throat and nods. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

They end up going to this pizza place they used to go to a lot when the kids were younger. They have these garlic knots that the kids used to love, and they’d come here at least every couple of weeks. They haven’t been in years.

Larry realizes this might be the first time they’ve been out for dinner as a family since… He tries not to look like he notices because he can already see it on Cynthia’s face and even somewhat on Zoe’s. Instead, he tries to gloss over the moment by grabbing one of the menus and announcing how hungry he is. They end up ordering a supreme pizza and two whole orders of garlic knots, and Cynthia doesn’t complain once about where the ingredients came from and whether the meat is organic or grain-fed or whatever it is that she’s on this week. 

Things are just… nice.

For a little while, it almost feels like they’re normal. Even though there’s an obvious absence in their four person booth, things almost don’t feel that terrible. They talk about school and jazz band, and they don’t argue or talk about everything that everyone did wrong or anything like that. It’s just nice.

They all have their cars, all having arrived at the concert separately. When they’re done with dinner, Larry briefly considers telling the girls goodnight and heading back to the office. He looks at Zoe, though, and sees his little girl, and he just wants to hang on to this almost okay moment a little longer, so he goes home. 

He doesn’t get his work out, knowing in the back of his head that he’s going to be screwed for mediation, but he leaves it all packed away. They all sit together in the living room and watch TV. Zoe’s covered up with one of those oversized afghans that Cynthia’s mother used to make before her arthritis got too bad. She’s got her knees pulled up to her chest and sits tucked between both of her parents. He honestly cannot remember the last time they sat like this, and he’s surprised at how badly he just wants it to keep going.

But moments don’t last forever. Zoe eventually starts dozing, and Cynthia wakes her up and says she needs to go to bed because she’s got school tomorrow. Zoe seems exhausted, so she gets up willingly. She leans down before she goes to bed, though, and hugs them both goodnight. She hasn’t done that in awhile, and Larry finds himself wishing for a way to go back in time to when it wasn’t such a rarity.

She always loved hugs when she was little. She loved climbing onto any sort of elevated surface and falling into their arms for a “giant big hug!” She would laugh and squeeze them tightly before running off to climb up again and repeat the process. She would crawl into his lap at night and wrap both of her arms around his neck and smash her face against his, squeezing as tightly as she could, even grunting with exhaustion. She always wanted hugs every night, usually double or triple hugs before she’d finally go to sleep. 

He doesn’t know when all of that stopped. He’s just now realizing that it has.

She goes to bed, and he’s left alone with Cynthia who immediately starts folding up the afghan and turns the television off. It’s obvious that she doesn’t expect them to continue their little family night now that their daughter has gone to bed. Everything in Larry is screaming at him to say something to her. He should tell her how nice she looks in that dress or ask her how her morning went or simply just ask her if she wants to finish watching the show with him.

He doesn’t say any of it, though. 

Instead, he gets up from his place on the sofa and stretches his back. “I’ve got some work I need to do, so I’ll be up later.” 

Cynthia just looks at him, and the few moments of semi-happiness he saw tonight are all gone. Her face looks blank and expressionless, and she just nods dully. “Okay.”

He kisses her cheek before he heads to the garage to get his briefcase out of the car. It’s not a kiss that means anything. More of a habit than anything. There’s nothing there anymore.

They both know it.

… … …

He goes to work long before the sun comes up the next morning. Cynthia’s still asleep, and he hears no noise from upstairs, so he assumes Zoe is as well. He’s the only one in the office when he arrives, and he soaks in the silence, wondering if it’s more or less nerve-wracking than the silence that’s been filling his home for months now. 

He shuts the door to his office and starts setting up his work. His head is sore, and his eyes hurt. There’s an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that’s been there pretty much consistently ever since…

He doesn’t like talking about it.

He buries himself in work, heads to mediation and to a company-paid lunch. He comes back to the office and throws himself back into his case files. He keeps busy, barely giving himself time to think, and that’s how he likes it. He likes to be busy. It keeps his head focused, and that’s what he likes.

When he starts seeing people pack up and leave for the day, he’s shocked to realize it’s already six o’clock. He’s nowhere near done, but he picks up his phone to send the requisite text to his wife, letting her know that he won’t be home for dinner. He’s pretty sure she no longer expects him, but he still sends the texts. She doesn’t acknowledge his statement, but she replies and tells him to check his email. He does, and sees that she’s forwarded him a message.

_Hi, Mrs. Murphy._

_I hope you’ve been doing well. I think about you and your family often, and I hope that things are going well for you all. I just wanted to give you an update on the orchard, since I know we haven’t been in touch much lately. We were able to secure the land and are ready to start the planting process. If you’d like to see the land or be involved with any of the planting, please let me know. Again, I hope you are doing well, and I hope to hear from you soon._

_Best wishes,  
Alana Beck_

He hasn’t heard from Alana or anyone involved in The Connor Project in awhile. He’s not sure what’s been going on with it because he’s completely removed himself from any involvement. 

He wonders if Alana knows the truth.

He wonders how many of the people working for The Connor Project have any idea about the truth behind it. Maybe they all do. Maybe none of them do. He doesn’t know. He tells himself that he doesn’t care.

They didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t even a question really. They never sat down and had a discussion about whether they should blow the cover- they just never told anyone. He doesn’t even really know why. It just didn’t feel worth it. They’d already been through so much, and it just seemed like that was one more thing that would add to the pile of misery. Besides, even if The Connor Project was based on a lie, it was still making a difference. It was helping people… So telling the truth really would have just resulted in a lot of disappointed people- people who probably didn’t need extra disappointment in their lives.

Larry no longer keeps up with it. He’s not involved, and neither is Cynthia. He’s not sure if Zoe still has any involvement at school, but he doubts it. She was devastated when it all came out- obviously- on multiple levels. She’s not in contact with Evan, he knows that much, but he thinks she may be at least somewhat friendly with Alana. Or maybe she’s not. He really has no idea.

All of Zoe’s social media accounts have been closed. She did it on her own, but he was ready to insist she did anyway. As much hate as he and Cynthia were getting, Zoe was getting it times a hundred. The guidance counselor let them know that there was a certain amount happening at school, too, but it was much worse online. Complete strangers who judged them- who judged _Zoe_ especially… All because of a note that had nothing whatsoever to do with Connor.

Connor didn’t even care enough to leave a note.

He just killed himself, took himself out of the world, no note, no explanation. Nothing. The one thing they thought they had to explain his choice was a lie, and now they have nothing. They’ll never have anything. 

Cynthia blames herself. She blames herself, and she blames Larry, and she refuses to blame Connor. Larry doesn’t understand that. He doesn’t understand how she can just look at the situation and _not_ feel the anger that he does. He knows he wasn’t perfect. Hell, he wasn’t even _close_ to the perfect parent. He did his best, though. He knows there were mistakes, knows he did plenty of things wrong. But _he_ didn’t do this.

Connor did this. This was Connor’s choice. Connor gets the blame.

Larry closes the email, deciding that he isn’t going to let this get to him right now. He doesn’t have time to relive it all, not when there’s a mountain of work waiting for him. 

… … … 

He doesn’t get home until after eleven. As he’s pulling up to the house, he sees a light in Zoe’s room, but everything else is dark. He’s as quiet as possible as he lets himself in, and heads to the bedroom.

Cynthia hasn’t left any lights on, so he has to be careful as he navigates his way to their bathroom so that he can get ready for bed. He’s tired, exhausted really. All he wants to do is lie down and sleep until his alarm gets him up to do everything all over again. 

Cynthia is lying at the edge of the bed, and he slips under the covers at the other end. Almost the entire length of their king-sized bed lies between them, and it might as well be the whole world. He straightens his pillow and then lies down. His eyes close almost immediately because he’s _so tired._

“Are you having an affair?”

Cynthia’s voice is dull and quiet, but in the overwhelming silence of the house, he hears it clearly. He rolls onto his side and looks at the back of her head.

_”What?”_

She doesn’t say anything for a second, but then she also rolls over and looks at him. He can barely make out her face in the darkness, but he can tell it looks just as blank as her voice sounds. “Are you?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I don’t think I even care… Just- I just want you to be honest.”

Her words cut into him. She doesn’t even _care?_ His wife doesn’t care if he’s having an affair. What is he supposed to do with that?

“I can’t…” He leans up and shakes his head. “No, Cynthia. I am not having an affair, but I’m glad to know how much you trust me.”

That seems to snap something inside of her because she sits up and stares at him from the other side of the bed. “It’s almost midnight, Larry. You’ve been gone since 5:30 this morning. I heard from you _once_ today. One text. And it’s like that every day. What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust me.” He sits up, too, because he feels intimidated in their current positions. He’s pissed now, and he doesn’t care how his tone is. He’s tired, and he shouldn’t have to come home to this bullshit. “Not say you don’t care if I’m having a damn affair!”

“Well, I don’t!”

He stares at her, and he takes a second to compose himself before he snaps back with something he’ll really regret. Instead, he just points out the obvious. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“How much did you drink, Cynthia? How many pills did you take?” He should stop, but he’s angry, and it’s not like it’s a lie anyway. He knows that her entire existence is built around wine and nerve pills these days. He should have said something a long time ago.

“Fuck you.” 

He reaches over and turns on one of the bedside lamps. The whole room floods with light, and Cynthia immediately winces in the brightness. 

“Just get it all out,” he tells her calmly, even though he’s not calm at all. He’s angry and hurt, but now’s as good a time as any. “I know you’ve got a lot to say, so say it.”

She stares at him, and he watches her eyes start to water before her voice lowers. “If you don’t want to be here, just go.”

“I’ve been at work. I have to _work._ ”

She rolls her eyes and then rubs at them furiously, her momentary lapse in anger obviously gone. “Of course! Work is so much more important than your family. It always has been!”

“I have done _everything_ for this family. What have any of you ever wanted that you haven’t gotten?”

“A husband?! A _father?!_ ”

He shakes his head. He’s not… He’s not doing this. She’s drunk. 

“Don’t you think your family- your _kids_ \- are a little more important than your clients, Larry?!”

“You don’t seem to mind my job when you’re taking off on $5,000 spa vacations!”

“Fuck you!” She shakes her head furiously. “Just… You’re just… _fuck you!_ ”

He gets up. He’s not sitting through any more of this. He’ll go to one of the guestrooms, or he’ll go to the basement. He’s not listening to this. He hears Cynthia crying now, but he doesn’t look at her. He just gathers up his pillow and his glasses and walks to the door. He’s not listening to this.

“Why did you _hate_ him so much?”

Larry stops with his hand on the doorknob. She sounds desperate and broken now, like the fight has just left her completely. He closes his eyes because he… he can’t.

“What did he do to you? Why couldn’t you just… Why did you have to _hate_ him?”

“You know that’s not true.” His voice is low, too, and he keeps his back turned because he doesn’t want to see the mess he knows she is right now.

“He needed you, but you never wanted anything to do with him!” Cynthia hiccups around her tears, and her voice starts getting more hysterical. “Why couldn’t you just _love_ him?!”

He turns around then- turns around and looks at her as she sits on the bed crying helplessly. She’s watching him, waiting for him to give some kind of response to that. His voice is tight and careful when he replies.

“He was my son. Of course I loved him.”

“He needed you… He needed you so many times, and you weren’t there.” 

“He didn’t want anything to do with me!” He shocks himself with his reaction. He feels his self-control slipping away little by little. “He couldn’t stand me, and you know it.”

“Why would he, Larry?!” She sounds damn near hysterical all of a sudden. “All you ever did was yell at him! Yell at him and threaten him and…” She shakes her head rapidly. “You should have _helped_ him! _We_ should have helped him!”

“I did everything I could! He was out of control!”

“All you ever did was punish him! He needed our _help!_ We failed him…”

“You mean _I_ failed him.” He glares at her, and he feels the anger bubbling inside of him. “Because I had to be the bad guy and put my foot down- I failed him, right? Because maybe if I just let him do whatever the hell he wanted to, things would be just perfect now, right??”

“You have no idea how desperate he was for your approval.”

“That’s bullshit! He didn’t give a shit what anybody thought about him. Least of all me!”

“Because he knew how you felt, Larry!” Cynthia’s voice is the loudest it’s been so far. “He knew you couldn’t stand to be around him! Everyone knew that!”

“PLEASE SHUT UP! JUST PLEASE FUCKING STOP!”

They both freeze when Zoe’s voice interrupts them from upstairs. They can hear the tears in her voice, and they look at each other for a second before Cynthia completely breaks down. She just starts sobbing and grabs a pillow to shove her face into. Larry doesn’t know what to do, and he stands there watching her for several seconds before he quietly stutters out a few words. 

“I-I’ll go check on her…”

Cynthia gives no indication that she’s heard him or that she cares. She’s just a mess, crying and shaking and… He leaves her.

When he gets upstairs, he’s not surprised to see Zoe’s door closed. He takes a second to compose himself before he goes to knock. There’s no response, but he can hear her crying through the door. He knocks again. 

“Zoe?”

“Leave me alone.” Her words sound choked and sad, but he tries one more time.

“Zoe, please open the door.”

She doesn’t. He waits probably a full five minutes, just listening to her cry through the door. And then he gives up. He can’t do anything to help her. She probably hates him just as much as Cynthia does. He can’t blame her for it.

The door next to hers is shut as well. It always is. He stares at it for a long minute and then finds himself twisting the doorknob without really thinking about it.

He doesn’t come in here. Not often anyway. Cynthia does- or she did anyway. Right after it happened… she’d spend hours in here. Larry never did.

It’s stuffy, likely from being constantly closed off, or maybe he just can’t breathe easily for another reason. He steps into the room slowly, looking around in the dim moonlight that’s seeping in through the curtains. He just stands there in the dark, looking around, and trying to breathe in the stuffy air.

He finally turns on the light, blinking as his eyes adjust. He doesn’t know why he’s in here. What does he think is going to come out of this? He looks around. Nothing has changed.

Nothing except for everything.

Connor was seven when they moved to this house. Larry had just been made partner and gotten a sizeable pay upgrade. There was really nothing wrong with their old house, but there was a new development with huge brand new constructions… and moving just seemed like a logical step.

They didn’t need a five bedroom house, but they bought one anyway. Connor wasn’t thrilled about the move, so they let him pick his own room at the new house because they thought it might make him a little more enthusiastic about the whole thing. He picked this one because he said he liked the windows. Larry thought that was pretty intelligent reasoning for a seven year old. He wasn’t wrong, either. The room he picked definitely had the best windows- it was a corner room with two separate views, one of the backyard and one of the driveway. 

They put Zoe right next door to him, mostly just because it was easier for them as parents. They didn’t have to walk all over the house at bedtime or when they were trying to get the kids ready for school. Plus, they foolishly thought that the kids might actually _like_ being close to each other. Zoe was already expressing some anxiety about sleeping on the second floor, so they figured putting her next to her brother might make her less anxious. 

She got over it pretty quickly.

Larry glances at the wall this room shares with Zoe’s, but he can’t hear her crying anymore. His eyes also fall on the closet door, and his stomach immediately drops. It’s closed. It’s been closed. As far as Larry’s concerned, it can stay closed forever. 

A certain anger starts building in him as he looks at that closed door. He knows it’s ridiculous, and he knows most people would probably judge him for being angry at his deceased child. But so what? Those people don’t know. They can’t understand, and fuck them because they’re not the ones who had to walk in and find their child swinging from a support beam.

Everything in the room is neat and tidy. Connor was never actually that messy, not even when he was little. He liked to keep things pretty much in order, but this is cleaner than usual. He purposely cleaned up before he… He put everything away, took out his trash, organized his shelves…

He did all of that, but he couldn’t take two minutes to write a note.

Larry finds himself glaring at the door. Cynthia’s words are zooming in his head, and he hates how she wasn’t wrong… not about everything anyway. 

He didn’t _hate_ Connor. You don’t hate your child. You love your child, and you try to do what’s best for him. And Larry did. Or he thought he did. At least at first. He _did_ try. 

But now everything’s just… destroyed. It’s all just destroyed, and he doesn’t know how to fix any of it. 

He can’t fix it. He can’t fix anything. He doesn’t even know what’s left that’s worth fixing. Cynthia hates him. Zoe probably hates him. He doesn’t know what to do for them because he can’t do anything. He can’t bring Connor back. He can’t erase everything that happened before and after Connor. He just… He can’t fix it. And he hates that because he _needs_ to be able to fix things.

Maybe that’s why he found Connor so difficult. 

Larry has always been able to fix things. He physically fixes things, mentally fixes things, fixes things at home and at work… But he could never fix Connor. 

Without thinking, he sits down on the bed and closes his eyes. He’s seen Cynthia do it, almost like she’s able to still _feel_ him in this room. Larry tries, but he feels nothing. Just the same anger and resentment that he’s been feeling for months. He just feels empty and angry, and there’s nothing that makes him think any part of Connor is still here.

“Why did you do this?”

He says it out loud, opening his eyes and speaking to the empty bedroom. He half-expects Connor to be sitting at the desk, to turn around and swear at him or something. But Connor’s not there. He’s gone. He left, and he took whatever tiny bit of normalcy this family had left with him. 

If he’s being honest- and what reason does he have to lie to himself- Connor has always been at the center of their problems. The problems he’s having with Cynthia aren’t new. They’ve been having problems for years now. They separated briefly years ago. It was when the kids were in middle school, and there was just no use trying to make anything work because it _didn’t_ work. Connor was starting to get out of control, was getting in trouble at school and acting out more than ever at home. He’d also come home, lock himself in his room for hours at a time, refusing to speak to or acknowledge anyone. Cynthia was constantly on edge, so worried about him and desperate to do something to help whatever was going on with him. She basically insisted on walking on eggshells around him, terrified that she might set him off at any given moment.

Larry couldn’t do that. He wasn’t going to let some kid- _his_ kid- run the house. That’s not how things work, and that’s not how they were going to happen. So yes, he cracked down. Maybe too hard sometimes. There was no other way. Connor didn’t respond to anything, he didn’t care. It was beyond frustrating, and Larry let his temper win more than a few times. Maybe he could have done something different or something better, but he doesn’t know what those things might have been. 

Zoe started having fits around that time, too. She was always so funny and happy and sassy and just like a little firecracker. She was that kid who could make any bad day better, and they _needed_ that in their family because they didn’t get too many days that couldn’t be considered bad. But she went to middle school, and all that light just started flickering and then started disappearing altogether. She came home in tears nearly every day- always crying because people were mean to her or bullying her. At first Larry had been confused because he couldn’t possibly imagine what people could find to bully _Zoe_ over. 

Then he found out.

People hated her, Zoe would scream loudly and angrily, all because of Connor and how much of a _freak_ he was. She’d cry and scream that he was ruining her life. She’d slam doors and scream at Connor that she hated him, and he’d scream back and call her a bitch. It was like a constant warzone, and it was too much. Larry hated it, would always yell at Connor because he was older and should know better than to pick on his little sister. Then Cynthia would yell at him to stop picking on _Connor._ Then she’d snap at Zoe and tell her to stop starting fights. And then Zoe would scream about how she hated _everyone._

Things just got to be too much. The kids were fighting constantly. He and Cynthia were fighting constantly. Somehow they decided they needed a break, and he moved out for a little while, grabbed a six month lease at some apartment complex downtown and just left. It didn’t make anything better. Zoe threw the biggest fit of her life and had Cynthia in tears when she yelled that she wanted to go with him. Connor didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest that their family might be splitting up. He just didn’t care.

He never cared about _anything._

Larry stayed gone for four months. During that time, he saw Zoe constantly. He didn’t mind, didn’t even really care that it was obviously hurting Cynthia’s feelings. Zoe would beg to come over, and he’d let her. She spent probably as many nights in that apartment as she did in her own bedroom. Connor, though, didn’t visit once. The only times he ever saw Connor were when he was picking up or dropping Zoe off, and even then, it was hit or miss on whether he’d see him. He never visited, not even once. Cynthia stubbornly said she wasn’t going to force him, and as terrible as it sounds, Larry didn’t really care. 

To be honest, Larry can’t even remember the specific reasons that he moved back home. Things weren’t getting any better by being separated, but his guilt started getting the better of him. As much as he didn’t miss the constant fighting and arguing, he still felt a sense of major obligation, overwhelming almost. Connor was still having trouble at school. He wasn’t much better at home. And Larry just… it wasn’t fair to leave Cynthia to deal with it alone. 

He thinks now how ironic it was that Connor’s essentially the one who brought the family back together under one roof.

Things never did get much better, though. They’d go through phases, brief stints of peace where they could almost trick themselves into thinking that things would be alright. They were always brief, though, and something always happened to make things go to shit again. Connor went to therapy for a little while, but it didn’t work. He was still just as angry, just as violent… It was pointless. 

The drugs started not long after that. Cynthia lost her fucking mind the first time he got caught with pot. She found a bag he stupidly left in his pocket while she was doing laundry. It was probably one of the very few times Larry ever remembers her really losing it on Connor. He had to be like maybe fourteen at the time, and he just sat there and stared at her blankly while she screamed. And Larry remembers thinking that maybe- _maybe_ \- she’d finally understand how damn frustrating it was.

If he’s being totally honest, he never even really cared about the pot. He smoked it when he was a kid- hell, he attributes a huge portion of being able to survive law school to being able relax with some weed every now and then. It never hurt him. And if anything, it actually seemed to _help_ Connor. It made him calmer, less anger, less drama.

What he _did_ care about, though, was how Connor got to a point where he literally didn’t care. He didn’t even try to hide it. He’d come home from school high, come to the dinner table with bloodshot eyes. _That’s_ what pissed Larry off. What kind of kid doesn’t even have the decency to at least _act_ like they’re not smoking up in their bedroom? Those double windows Connor picked out when he was seven really came in handy for him years later.

The pills, though… That was a different story. Pot was one thing, pills were something else. It was a problem, and Larry came down hard on it. He did everything he could think of- grounding him, cutting off funds because he came to realize that maybe if Connor couldn’t afford drugs, he wouldn’t _buy_ drugs. Yeah, right. He still found ways- spent his lunch money, stole from Zoe, even paid some college kid to pawn a bunch of his stuff for him. 

Cynthia started yelling about rehab sometime after Connor nearly broke Zoe’s door down, banging on it and screaming that he was going to kill her because she told on him for buying oxy off some kid behind the auditorium. Larry was more of the mind that Connor was practically an adult. In a couple of years, his decisions were going to be all on him, and so were the consequences. Connor was a smart kid- shitty grades, but very smart- he was intelligent enough to know that doing this kind of crap was stupid as hell. If he wanted to do it, fine. Let him fuck up his life. Larry was sick of trying.

Cynthia won, though. She said it was their responsibility to help him. She started crying about drugs and how he was obviously addicted and how it was a _disease_ , and whatever. Larry just told her to do whatever she wanted. That’s how he ended up paying thousands and thousands of dollars for some six week yoga retreat in the Poconos that was allegedly supposed to be a treatment program. Connor got kicked out after a week and a half. The treatment fees were non-refundable. Larry vowed loudly and forcibly that that would be the _last_ time he ever spent a dime trying to help that kid. 

He wrote a check to the funeral home for $11,573.84.

He leans back until his head rests on the wall behind him. He takes in a deep breath and stares at the room in front of him. He tries- really, really tries- to figure out where everything went _so wrong._ He thinks about Cynthia, probably still downstairs crying. He doesn’t know what to do with that anymore. He doesn’t know how to help her or how to fix everything that’s broken between them. He still loves her, but he doesn’t know if that’s enough anymore. He wants her to be happy, but he knows that’s not possible. Her heart is shattered, and he can’t help her with that. He can’t bring Connor back. He can’t go back in time and save him. He should have tried to save him when he had the chance, but he can’t do anything about it now.

He thinks about Zoe. He thinks about how she used to be when she was younger, how there’s no trace of that little girl anymore. She’s been unhappy for a long time, and he doesn’t know what to do about that, either. He basically gives her whatever she wants, but she still carries all that sadness with her. He wants her to be happy, too, more than anything in the entire world. He started seeing little sparks of happiness in her eyes again, briefly, months ago… When Evan was around… He grits his teeth, holding so much anger inside. Anger at that kid for deceiving them all, but more angry than anything for what he did to Zoe. Zoe, who rarely reached out beyond her small group of friends in jazz band. Zoe, who never even had a shot at a normal life, despite the fact that she herself never did anything. Zoe… who deserved _everything_ but rarely asked for anything.

How could somebody hurt _Zoe_ like that?

What’s more frustrating than anything, though, is that Larry isn’t even sure that Evan _meant_ to hurt her. He’s not sure he meant to hurt any of them. They haven’t talked to him since that day he tearfully confessed in the kitchen, but knowing that kid- as briefly as he did… he just doesn’t really think he did any of it maliciously. That’s no excuse obviously, and in some ways, it even makes things worse. But Zoe… She’s more closed off than ever these days.

Without thinking about it, Larry finds himself lying down on the bed, his head on the pillow. He wants to feel his son, find some kind of connection that he could never find before his death. There has to be something. There has to be _something_ that he can find and cling to that will just… make all of this _stop._ Or not stop, but at least make things less terrible. Larry feels like he has nothing. He knows that’s largely his own fault, but that knowledge doesn’t make things any easier. He wishes things were different, wishes that none of this ever happened, but he wishes he just had _something_ to hang onto. But he has nothing. He doesn’t have any great memories or special moments or inside jokes or secrets or anything… Nothing that connects him to his son. His own flesh and blood who he raised for nearly eighteen years. He has nothing.

He just wants _something._

… … …

“Dad?” 

His eyes flicker open, and it takes a second for him to realize where he is. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he wakes up in his son’s room with his daughter standing over him. She’s looking at him strangely, and he’s not surprised. 

He sits up and runs a hand over his face. “What time is it?”

“Like 6:30?” She obviously just woke up herself, and he can tell she’s still basically half-asleep. And probably very confused.

He nods and starts to stand up. “I guess I fell asleep.”

“Why are you in here?”

He doesn’t even know the answer to that question. So he just lifts a shoulder. “Just thinking.”

Zoe doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she picks up something from the bedside table and looks at it. It’s an ink pen, looks like the type you get as a souvenir on vacation. She twirls it between her fingers and then looks up. “This is mine.”

He doesn’t ask any questions about how it ended up with Connor. He just nods and leans down to kiss the side of her head. “Don’t be late for school.”

He goes downstairs and tentatively heads to his own bedroom. He hesitates for a second before he finally opens the door and lets himself in. He looks toward the bed, but Cynthia’s not there. He hears her in the bathroom, though, and he finds her at the sink. She’s brushing her teeth, and she looks up and meets his eyes in the mirror. She looks tired, miserable really, and her eyes are puffy and sad.

They don’t say anything. She finishes brushing her teeth and then rinses, watching him in the mirror the entire time. Everything inside of him is yelling at him to say something, but nothing tells him _what._ When she turns around, he has the strongest urge to just hug her.

So he does.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest. For a brief second, he wonders if she’ll push him away, and he’s relieved when she doesn’t. She doesn’t hug him back, but she leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder, and they just stand there. 

“I’m sorry…” He whispers into her hair, not specifying what he’s apologizing for because he’s apologizing for _so much_. For last night. For the last several months. For the past eighteen years… He’s just sorry and tired, and he just wants _something_ to be okay.

She shakes her head a little bit, but she still doesn’t say anything. He thinks he feels her shudder a little bit, and he hopes she doesn’t start crying again. She cries so much, and he just wants her tears to stop. He just wants her to have _some_ kind of peace. Even if he knows it won’t happen. Not any time soon. Maybe never.

“I want to help them with the orchard.” He says it without even thinking about it, and he realizes that it’s true. The Connor Project may have been a hoax, but it still meant something. It can still _mean_ something.

Cynthia lifts her head and pulls back just a little bit. She looks up at him, still so sad and hurt. “Really?”

He nods and swallows the lump that’s rapidly forming in his throat. “I don’t want him to be forgotten.”

Cynthia’s eyes are water and she stares at him. But then she nods and lays her head back down. A second later, he feels her arms wrap around him.

Maybe nothing’s okay. Maybe he can’t fix anything or change anything. Maybe he’ll never find that connection with his son because maybe it doesn’t exist. Maybe it never did. But he can do this. He can try to do something _now_ , something that can help what’s left of his family.

He owes that to them. He owes it to Connor, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about that... I know Larry's a difficult character. He's also difficult to write.


End file.
